Hugger Mugger

FORTY-NINE

THE BAD NEWS about Saratoga was that it's about a thousand miles from Atlanta and I was driving. The good news about Saratoga was that it isn't so far from Massachusetts, and with a fifty-mile detour I could stop in Boston and pick up Susan. Practicing psychotherapy in Cambridge is a license to steal, and Susan, after a good year, had bought herself a little silver Mercedes sport coupe with red and black leather interior and a hard top that went up and down at the push of a button.

"We'll take it to Saratoga," she said.

"That car fits me like the gloves fit O. J.," I said.

"I'll drive," she said.

"I'm not sure I want to get there that fast."

"It'll be fun. I can buy a big hat."

"That's mostly why we're going," I said. "What about Pearl?"

"I already called Lee Farrell," she said. "He'll come and stay with her."

Which is how we got to be zipping along the Mass Pike, well above the speed limit, toward New York State, with the top down and Susan's big hat stashed safely in the small trunk space that was left after the top folded into it. Periodically we changed lanes for no reason that I could see.

"Tell me everything about the case," she said. "Since San Francisco and the dreadful Sherry Lark."

Her dark thick hair moved in the wind, and occasionally she would brush it away as she drove. She wore iridescent Oakley wraparound sunglasses, and her profile was clear and beautiful.

"I feel like Nick and Nora Charles," I said.

"Of course, darling. Would you like to stop at the next Roy Rogers and have a martini?"

"Not without Asta," I said.

"She loves Lee Farrell," Susan said. "She'll be perfectly happy."

I told her about the case. She was a professional listener and was perfectly quiet as I talked.

"So what do you hope to do in Saratoga?" she said when I was through.

"What I always do. Blunder around, ask questions, get in people's way, be annoying."

"Make love with the girl of your dreams."

"That too," I said. "All the principals are here: Dolly, Jason, Penny, and Delroy."

"I wish it were Sherry Lark that did it," Susan said.

"Because you don't like her?"

"You bet," Susan said. "She's self-absorbed, stupid, dishonest with herself."

"Isn't that a little subjective?" I said.

"I'm not a shrink now, I'm your paramour and free to be as subjective as I like. Who do you wish it were?"

We had crept up very close to the rear end of a Cadillac which was creeping along at the speed limit. Susan seemed not to notice this, but love is trust and all I did was tense up a little.

"Sherry'd be nice," I said. "But I can't see what her motive would be."

"Too bad," Susan said.

She swung suddenly left and passed the Cadillac and swung back in. The Cadillac honked its horn.

"Oh fuck you," Susan said pleasantly.

"Beautifully put," I said.

"So who do you think?"

"Well, it pretty much narrows down to Penny or Delroy or both. I'm hoping for Delroy. He's got a record. Even better, he's got a record for scamming women. But I don't see how all this could go down without Penny's involvement."

"Maybe he has some sort of hold on her," Susan said.

"Or she on him," I said.

"I thought you were fond of her."

"I am. She's beautiful, charming, twenty-five, and smells of good soap and sunshine," I said. "But you may recall the words of a wise and randy shrink-things are not always as they appear to be."

We passed West Stockbridge, and crossed the state line at breakneck speed. Susan smiled at me.

"I'm not so wise," she said.